


The Lucky Die Once

by wildlives



Category: Killers Kill; Dead Men Die - Annie Leibovitz
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 15:32:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17046233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildlives/pseuds/wildlives
Summary: “I told you a hundred times, honey. I didn’t kill him. I just happened to be there when he died.”





	The Lucky Die Once

**Author's Note:**

  * For [baroqueriot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/baroqueriot/gifts).



“Lydeker,” said Laura, twisting the phone cord around her finger. “Laura Lydeker. Yes, that’s right. Oh, that’s so kind of you to say.” She smiled and waited. When she could get a word in, she said, “I’m so glad I called you, too. Say, do you have the extension for a Mrs. Barringsley? Ethel Barringsley? Yes. Why, she’s my cousin. You didn’t know? Of course; she’s my very favorite cousin. Yes, I can hold.”

The clinic warden tapped on the glass of the booth, then tapped her watch. Laura waved the phone at her, giving her best tabloid smile, and waited, waited, waited until Ethel finally picked up the line.

“Hello? Who is this?” Laura could just picture her: hunched over the receiver, telegraphing her discomfort to everyone. 

“It’s Laura,” said Laura. “Ethel, it’s so nice to hear your voice. I was hoping-”

“How did you get this number?” interrupted Ethel.

“I chatted a while with the receptionist,” said Laura. “It seems she didn’t know we were cousins. She was very star-struck. You know, just because the spa says ‘private’ on the door doesn’t mean they have any discretion. I can recommend some more discerning places to you sometime.”

This time, at least, Ethel let her finish before she said, “What do you need, Laura?”

“I need to be discharged from the clinic,” said Laura. “Today. And they’ll only let a relative sign me out.”

“I can’t,” said Ethel. “I’m sorry. Call someone else.”

The warden tapped again. Laura had to speed this up. “Ethel, you and I both know I would only be calling you if I had exhausted my other options. I expected you to have some concerns, so if you don’t help me, I’ll tell your husband about your nightclub venture.”

Cold silence from the phone receiver. Then Ethel said, “I can be there in two hours. No sooner.”

“Perfect,” said Laura. “And one more thing. I’ll need a ride.”

 

Laura had almost grown fond of the clinic’s grounds in the three months since the murders. Green gardens, heavily irrigated, crisscrossed with pebbled walkways and benches. All within sight of multiple windows, of course. And if you sneaked a smoke - and Laura had tried - two or three workers would appear out of nowhere to invite you to put it out and come back inside.

They didn’t treat her like a Lydeker here. Laura might even come to miss that.

Ethel arrived in an hour and a half. She wore large sunglasses and a broad-brimmed hat and only took them off at the reception desk, but Laura could have told her: they’re paid not to recognize people here. 

Laura smiled at the secretary while she read aloud a series of questions to Ethel: is the subject recovered? Is she being released to a responsible adult? What is your relation to the subject? What will be her forwarding address? Laura stood at Ethel’s elbow, looking pious. She was still dressed in the thin cotton gown the clinic had issued her. Then they were out the door with Laura’s suitcase and a folder of notarized documents that Laura shoved in Ethel’s glove box. Ethel frowned and put her sunglasses back on.

“You still haven’t asked me what’s the rush,” said Laura. 

Ethel started the car and pulled sharply out of the parking spot. “I don’t care why,” said Ethel. “You didn’t give me an opportunity to care. You just threatened me. My business isn’t yours to disclose, you know. Once the permits are accepted, in eight months I’ll have enough capital to prove it’s not a frivolous . . . hobby. Robert will understand. It’s not your decision, and he’s not your husband.”

“And thank god for that,” said Laura.

“Laura,” snapped Ethel. 

“The way he dotes on you would put me off,” said Laura. “He’s all sweetness. I like my men with some salt.”

Ethel fell silent. The reminder of her husband’s devotion seemed to have placated her a little. 

The clinic was nearly an hour out of the city, and most of that distance was tightly wound roads hugging the canyon walls. Laura watched the river below and listed the things she’d need once she got back to the city: Lunch. New clothes. A handgun. No, clothes first, then the rest. 

“So what was the rush?” said Ethel. She was still angry; her shoulders tense. 

“Rebecca’s gone missing,” said Laura.

Ethel looked at Laura, shocked. Then she looked quickly back at the road. A pickup truck passed them, rattling.

“How long? What happened?” said Ethel.

“No one knows what happened, and at least two weeks,” said Laura. “Maybe three. Of course Lydia didn’t call me; why should I be concerned about our sister? I had to pick it up from a tabloid. Magazines aren’t even allowed in the clinic. Probably why my family chose it. I found this gossip rag in one of the nurses’ stations when I was looking for cigarettes.” Laura twisted in her seat and opened her suitcase on the backseat; she pulled a sheaf of papers out of a tear in the lining and spread them on her lap. “Here, I’ll read it to you.”

 

“Heiress Vanishes Into Thin Air!

“Just as the world was forgetting about the murder of Oscar Slade at the hands of Laura Lydeker-”

 

“I was never charged,” Laura interrupted herself, and then continued,

 

“-her older sister Rebecca Lydeker has gone missing. No police reports have been filed - they don’t want you to know. But several sources have noticed her absence at parties, and she hasn’t been seen at the Lydeker mansion in weeks. She lives there with her sisters Laura and Lydia and their elderly aunt Alma, and the girls are rarely seen far from Beverly Hills. Is Rebecca hiding something she doesn’t want the world to know? Or could the explanation be more sinister? 

“After all, the night that Oscar Slade was murdered, Rebecca’s other aunt Tilda Lydeker was found at the bottom of a fire escape with a Jane Doe who still hasn’t publicly been identified. It’s said they died of lead poisoning - the kind that comes from a pistol. It was the expected end for the criminal queenpin of Los Angeles, who over the past forty years had dragged the good Lydeker name from the clean lemon orchards of the Valley and into the depths of organized crime. But how far did young Laura Lydeker fall from the lemon tree? After she shot Oscar Slade, could she have gone to tie up loose ends with her aunt? 

“What’s more, after eluding the courts, Laura’s been rumored to be on an extended vacation, but no one has seen her at any of the resorts she was alleged to be visiting. Who knows more than they’re saying about the Lydeker sisters? And why aren’t the police investigating?”

 

“I had no idea,” said Ethel. “It hasn’t been in the Times. And Lydia and Alma never called me. Do you- where do you think she went?”

“Do you mean do I think she’s dead?” said Laura.

“No, I,” said Ethel. 

“I think she’s alive,” said Laura. “Rebecca’s too smart to just be killed like anyone else. But two weeks doesn’t look good. I found out a couple days ago, and I knew I had to get out as soon as possible to look for her. So I had to call you.”

“I know a few of Rebecca’s schoolmates,” said Ethel. “I also have a friend on the police force - I can ask a few questions. Nobody disappears in Los Angeles, not for long. Not a Lydeker.”

Laura smiled and gave Ethel’s hand on the gear shift a pat. “That’s our Ethel,” she said. “Always thinking.”

“That’s just the short-term, Laura,” said Ethel. “Me asking my friends questions isn’t a solution. What are you going to do? Do you have any leads?”

“I do, in fact,” said Laura, smug. “I met someone in the clinic who had some very interesting things to say.”

“A fellow patient?” said Ethel skeptically. 

“And what’s wrong with that?” said Laura. “Most of the women in there are there because they’re inconvenient, not crazy. Like me - Alma just wanted me out of the way for a while after what happened. That’s all.”

Ethel shook her head and changed the subject. “Where do Aunt Alma and Lydia think Rebecca is? What are they planning to do?”

“Lydia’s only interested in her new career,” said Laura. “Acting. Tilda said none of us would take up acting while she was alive. Well, she was right.” The road had leveled out a little, and a wooden fence ran along the left side. A cluster of white horses speckled the field beyond it. “Anyway, Lydia told me not to worry. I bet this article has put a crimp in her social life, though. Alma only said she was taking care of things. I really don’t know what they expected me to do. Sit quietly and wait?”

“Maybe they remembered that the last time you took matters into your own hands, a man wound up dead,” said Ethel.

Laura shrugged. The clinic gown was scratchy on her shoulders; she couldn’t wait to get into something more her style. “I told you a hundred times, honey. I didn’t kill him. I just happened to be there when he died.”

 

Ethel’s coat covered Laura’s clinic gown and her driving hat covered her face. They stopped to buy her new clothes - just a department store, no time for anything better. Nobody looked twice at Laura out here in the suburbs, not even once she got into a peach tea dress and matching heels. 

“What you said about your policeman friend was a good idea,” said Laura, sliding on her own pair of sunglasses. “Perhaps you should drop by this afternoon.”

“It is a good idea. But are you suggesting I leave you? What are you going to do? Sit in the car and knit?” said Ethel.

Laura rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to get into trouble. I just need to pick up some things. We can get more done if we divide our time and meet up later.”

“What specifically are you picking up?” Ethel pressed.

“Specifically, an envelope. They contain information that will speed up this investigation of ours. They’re at a church on 32nd Street - as you can see, hardly a place I can get into trouble.” 

“I’ll walk in with you,” said Ethel.

“Anything you need,” said Laura. “I couldn’t do this without you, after all.”

Ethel gave Laura a hard look out of the corner of her eye. She might have relaxed about the blackmail, but Laura was going to have to keep working on earning Ethel’s trust. 

“And what are you going to do, specifically? What’s your friend’s name?”

“His name is Mack,” said Ethel. “Mack Shaughnessy. He was a friend of my first husband. We kept in touch. He’s a good man, Laura - probably one of the kindest on the force.”

“Then he sounds like exactly the kind of man we want to have on our side,” said Laura. “And on our way to the church, I’ll tell you about my friend Judy from the clinic.”

 

“Every girl at the clinic had had an official reason for their being there, at least on their paperwork - sickness, tiredness, a need for quiet to ‘settle the mind.’ Mine said I was recovering from a wasting illness. The truth was always more complicated - a lot of the girls had a pregnancy or an abortion their families didn’t want people to know about. Many of them drank or took too many pills. Some of them had refused to break up with a person their parents didn’t like. I, of course, had been recently suspected of murder, never charged, and our aunt wanted me out of the tabloids for a while. 

“Judy Barnes came to the clinic only two weeks after I did. She had just turned twelve. Every other file was full of excuses, but not Judy’s. She was just there because she didn’t have anyone else, and some rich benefactor thought the clinic was a better place for her than the streets. I sneaked a peek at her file on a nurse’s cart one day: it just said ‘orphan.’

“Her benefactor was mostly right: at the clinic people were mostly nice to her and she got three squares a day. But even I thought that Judy would be better off with girls her own age. When we girls were allowed to socialize, there was a lot of hard talk about the men who had put them there. The last young girl I’ve spent time with was Lydia, who is only a year younger than me but has managed to never grow up, so I didn’t exactly know what twelve-year-olds liked to talk about. But I liked Judy, so I tried to keep things light. We would eat lunch in the garden, away from the noisy dining hall, and talk about what we would do if they had a million dollars.”

“You do have a million dollars,” said Ethel, amused.

“Judy doesn’t know that. It’s more fun when the money is imaginary. Anyway, our conversations often turned back to men after all. I complained about how School Boy Simmons had stopped taking my calls. Judy didn’t have a sweetheart, but she told me about her guardian. Judy had been taken in by Pastor Abelard of All Saints Lutheran, who despite Judy’s initial suspicions had turned out to be all right. He took good care of her, never took advantage, and never made her spend time with anyone she didn’t want. Then he got murdered in his own church and Judy ended up at the clinic.”

“Poor girl,” said Ethel. 

“I know. It gets worse,” said Laura. “Unlike me, Judy wasn’t angry about this turn of events. She thought it was in line with the rest of her life so far. She mostly didn’t even want to talk about it. But sometimes, when I got her talking long enough, Judy would say that she knew who did it. Since I spent most nights planning my revenge on whoever had killed Aunt Tilda, this revelation certainly caught my interest.

“It took a while to earn the rest of the story. This is how it happened: Judy and Pastor Abelard had been tidying the sanctuary after a late service. Abelard heard a voice in the atrium and suddenly told Judy to hide under the lectern. Judy watched through the wooden mesh of the lectern’s base as a man entered the sanctuary, had an argument with Abelard, and then shot him to death on the altar steps. And the man had been wearing a police uniform.”

“A policeman,” said Ethel. “A dirty cop?”

“I think it’s more than that,” said Laura. “She knows her police uniforms. She said it looked like a senior officer’s to her.”

Ethel shook her head. “That doesn’t make any sense. Why would he risk murdering someone in his uniform? Anyone could see him. And someone did!”

“Exactly,” said Laura. “He’d only do that if he was confident he could get away with it, no matter who saw. Before she was killed, Tilda told us that someone was targeting her money laundering operations - killing the girls who worked there as they walked home at night. It always looked like a random mugging, but she didn’t believe it. And she didn’t think it was Doppel or O’Hanlon or any of the usuals, but she didn’t know who it could be. Then, when she was getting close, she was killed.”

“If the police are committing extra-judicial killings in Los Angeles, we have bigger problems than Rebecca going missing,” said Ethel. 

“That’s just it,” said Laura. “I think the killings are why Rebecca is missing. She picked up Tilda’s investigation where she left off. She sent me a letter about it. Rebecca never met a mystery she didn’t want to solve. And if she got too close, she would have gone on the run rather than bring the trouble home to the rest of us.”

Ethel shook her head. “The trouble will come home anyway,” she said. “Alma’s up to her neck in Tilda’s affairs, and so is all the Lydeker money. If they come for her, you and Lydia are out on the street.”

“Don’t worry about us,” said Laura. “We’re going to get this guy and his cronies. And I know how.”

“Laura, you’re not going up against a killer cop,” said Ethel. “They don’t even have to frame you to get you out of the way - they can just charge you for shooting Oscar Slade, evidence or not.”

“They won’t have time to frame me, or you, or anybody. Judy was a smart girl. After the killer left, she used Abelard’s pocket knife to dig out the four bullets that had stuck in the wooden steps. Then she hid them and ran to her quarters and pretended to be in bed. The police weren’t called until the next morning, and they closed the case quickly, having never even tried to find the killer. They said it was probably a bum who had come to Abelard looking for money. He ran a soup kitchen six days a week and had a reputation for helping unsavory characters. Judy said the police were very curious about who had seen Abelard last - perhaps someone else had been at the church that night? The church staff said only Judy was likely to have been there, but Judy denied everything. She took a gamble, and it paid off. Suspecting that she might be a witness, and might also have hidden the missing evidence, the police didn’t dare to hurt her - yet. Instead someone paid for her to live a comfortable life, under supervision, outside the city. At my clinic. Somewhere people would be less inclined to believe her story, if she ever chose to tell it.”

 

The front door of All Saints Lutheran was open, just like Judy had said.

Laura walked in like she owned it, an essential tactic in entering places she shouldn’t. Ethel followed a few steps behind. The atrium was carpeted in what had once been blue velvet and was now a crushed and threadbare gray. Everything smelled of cigarette smoke. The sanctuary doors, straight ahead, were closed and the little stained glass windows set in the center were dark. Laura’s heel sank into a soft spot in the floor and she stepped quickly aside. 

There was a door tucked away to the right. The frosted glass was painted with the word OFFICE. Laura opened the door and peeked in. “Hello?” 

There was a woman sitting at a heavy wooden desk inside. She looked up at them and said, “Yes?”

“Is the sanctuary open for prayer, ma’am?” said Laura.

“Sure,” said the woman. She leaned over, chair creaking, and flipped a switch on the wall. It made a heavy clacking sound. “We lock the doors at ten p.m. If you need a place to stay later than that, I can tell you some places to find a bed for the night.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary, but thank you!” said Laura, waving cheerfully. The woman just nodded in the direction of the sanctuary doors. “Lights are on. Help yourself.”

Ethel stayed behind in the atrium, pretending to be engrossed in a rack of thin pamphlets. Some were about sin, some were about where to find a soup kitchen. Laura nodded to her and pushed one of the doors open.

The sanctuary was small and one of the lights overhead flickered on and off. Laura walked most of the way to the front and sat down in the second pew, near the outside wall, and looked up at the empty lectern. The wooden mesh was exactly as Judy had described it. The only new thing in the church was the carpet covering the altar steps. Royal blue, covering a multitude of sins. 

Laura bent her head to pray, and as she did, she reached under the pew and fished around. Her fingers met an envelope taped to the underside of the seat. She pulled it free, masking the sound with a cough, and slid it into the lining of her skirt. 

 

After Laura finished her Hail Marys, Ethel asked the church secretary if she could use her telephone.

Laura watched in amusement, hidden behind her sunglasses, as the secretary listened to Ethel’s half of the conversation.

“Is this the 27th Precinct? I’m fine, thank you. I was wondering if Detective Shaughnessy was in. Oh? Do you know when he’ll be back? I see. Where did you say he was? Thank you. Certainly: Ethel Barringsley. I’m an old friend. Yes, I would appreciate it. No, not at this number. Call the Hollywood Tower and they can direct you. Thank you. You, too.” She hung up. 

“So where is he?” asked Laura, amused.

Ethel ignored her. “Thank you for the use of your telephone, ma’am.” The secretary nodded, looking a little startled. She probably didn’t get many guests who called the Hollywood Tower home. Ethel led Laura out of the office by her elbow.

“Did you find it?” said Ethel quietly, as soon as they were out of earshot. 

“Right where she said,” said Laura. 

“Good.” Ethel pushed the outside door open and put her sunglasses back on; the sun was blinding after the gloom of the church. “Mack is at The Cuban. The switchboard said it was all right if we dropped in - he’s only there to ask some questions.”

“I love The Cuban,” exclaimed Laura. “It’s my second favorite nightclub in LA. Ethel, if I knew you would take me right to The Cuban, I would have asked you to break me out earlier.”

Ethel rolled her eyes. “What’s your first favorite nightclub?”

“Why, it’s yours,” said Laura. “I can tell, even though you haven’t opened it yet.”

“Flatterer,” said Ethel, smiling. “Get in the car.”

 

The Cuban wasn’t fully open for business at 3 pm on a Tuesday. The bar was open, but a red velvet rope closed off the dining and stage area and the private rooms beyond. A bouncer stood next to the rope, frowning at everyone, even beautiful ladies. 

Ethel sighed. “I hate to say it, Laura-”

“I’ll take care of it,” said Laura. She approached the bouncer. “Hi,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I’m Laura Lydeker. Doña Perfecta asked me to come see her. Is she here?”

“Laura Lydeker,” said the bouncer, already reaching to unhook the rope. “So they let you out of jail? I heard you got life.”

Laura had heard it all already. The bouncer’s smirk got under her skin anyway. “It was Oscar Slade,” said Laura coldly. “They gave me a medal, not life.”

The bouncer chuckled and let Laura and Ethel pass.

Ethel gave Laura a sympathetic look, which Laura ignored. Instead she loosened up her posture, pasted on a smile, and looked for Ethel’s detective.

He wasn’t hard to find. All the overhead lights were on in the dining room, illuminating flaws that Laura had never noticed before; stained carpet here, a patch in the wooden wainscoting there. Cleaners were working their way around the tables, a man was hammering on something just behind the stage curtain, and up on the balcony there was a cluster of men having a chummy conversation. 

Laura and Ethel stopped and looked at them and one by one, the men stopped talking and glanced down. 

“Mack,” called Ethel, with a smile and a wave. 

“Hey! Ethel!” said the handsomest of the men. He waved back, a single casual gesture. “Hey, wait there a minute, will you?” He turned back to his conversation. 

“You didn’t tell me he was gorgeous,” said Laura. “Are you sure he’s not third husband material?”

 

When Shaughnessy’s conversation was over, he clapped one of the men on the shoulder and loped down the steps two at a time. He took off his hat as he approached. “Ethel Barringsley. To what do I owe the pleasure?” he said. He looked politely at Laura. Unlike most men, he didn’t give her a once over. “Mack Shaughnessy,” he said, and stuck out a hand.

“Laura Lydeker,” said Laura, shaking his hand.

Shaughnessy’s eyebrows went up. “I met your aunt Tilda a few times,” he said. “Impressive lady. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“I appreciate it,” said Laura. She was having trouble getting this guy’s number, but at least he was polite. Fortunately, Ethel took over the conversation.

“Mack, we’re concerned about Laura’s sister Rebecca,” said Ethel. “She apparently has been missing for a few weeks. Do you know if the police are involved yet? Is there an investigation?”

“Well, gosh,” said Shaughnessy, tapping his hat on his chest. “I’m not normally supposed to comment on cases like this, but since it’s your sister - Ethel, how do you know the family?”

“We’re cousins,” said Ethel. “On my mother’s side.” She said it like it didn’t really matter, but from the surprise on Shaughnessy’s face, Laura could see that he’d never even heard a rumor. 

“Sure, sure,” said Shaughnessy. “Cousins. Well, I can tell you no report has been filed. There isn’t an official investigation. I’ve heard a few people around the precinct talking about it, though.”

“And saying what?” said Laura.

“Just saying they’d like to be the one to break the case,” said Shaughnessy. “Get their name in the papers.”

That didn’t sound like the full story to Laura. She glanced at the men Shaughnessy had been meeting with. Laura recognized one of them as one of The Cuban’s upper management, and all of them were watching Laura and Ethel out of the corners of their eyes. “Perhaps we can talk somewhere else, where we won’t be imposing on your friends,” said Laura. “Perhaps Ethel’s car? Nothing serious - I just have a few more questions.”

It took some reassurances and flattery from Ethel to get Shaughnessy out the door. Once they were in the parking lot, Laura saw that Shaughnessy’s partner was sitting in their squad car, smoking. “We think Rebecca may be afraid of the police,” said Laura quietly. “No offense to your partner, but can we keep this between us? Ethel told me you’re the best man on the force. We aren’t sure who else to trust.”

“Is that so?” said Shaughnessy. His partner noticed them and made a questioning gesture; Shaughnessy held up a quelling hand and turned to Laura, his smile fading to concern. “What makes you think the police are the danger to her? Has she done something?”

“With all due respect, Detective Shaughnessy, we know that not all the police in Los Angeles are on the city of angels,” said Laura. “And we think you know, too. Rebecca hasn’t done anything to anybody. We just want to get her home safely, and we need your help to do it.”

“What kind of help?” said Shaughnessy. 

“Mack,” said Ethel. “We’re just asking that if we can prove misconduct in the force that you’ll be there to back us up. And it’s not an empty request. If we’re right about this, they’ll need good leaders to take charge. I can’t think of a more deserving man. All you have to do is what’s right. And I know you already do.”

Shaughnessy’s face had grown more serious. He looked between Ethel and Laura. “I see,” he said. “Well, you’re not wrong. There are some bad actors. You know me, Ethel - I just do what I can.”

“Of course,” said Laura.

“So what can I do?” he said. “Just wait until you make some kind of move? You’re not giving me a lot to work with, here.”

“In the meantime you can tell us whether you’ve heard about any crooked cops,” said Laura. “Anybody in particular looking for Rebecca?”

He gave a short glance back at his partner in the squad car. He had fallen asleep under a newspaper. “The Jane Doe,” he said. “When your aunt Tilda was found dead, there was another dead woman with her. Well, she wasn’t a co-conspirator or a liaison, like the papers said - and she wasn’t unknown. She was one of our only woman cops. Mary Minsky. A sharp girl, good at undercover work. She was closing in on your aunt that night.”

“A cop,” said Laura. “And she killed Tilda?” 

“I think so,” said Shaughnessy. “And I think Tilda got her back before she died. The higher-ups closed the case and brushed Minsky under the rug because it didn’t look good: it looked like Minsky went there that night to kill her. I think she did exactly that. It doesn’t always look so suspicious, but Minsky mucked it up that time, and she paid for it.”

“Is there anyone else trying to finish what she started?”

“She had a partner, Sloan,” said Shaughnessy. “They were close. If she was up to anything, he certainly knew about it.”

“And they all both worked out of your precinct,” said Laura. Shaughnessy nodded. 

Laura looked at Ethel. They had what they needed. Laura held out her hand again and said, “Thank you, detective. If you can do us one more favor - make sure Sloan is out on assignment this afternoon, if you can. And see if you yourself can get tied up in desk work. I’m not sure how this will go, but I know it will be better if you’re there. Say, 3 pm.”

Shaughnessy shook Laura’s hand. “Are you ladies sure you know what you’re doing?” he said. 

“We’re sure, Mack,” said Ethel. “We have you on our side.” She squeezed his arm. He gave them a look of concern before he walked back to his squad car, banged on the roof, and made his partner jump.

 

 

Once they were settled back in Ethel’s car, Laura fished around in her skirts for the envelope. She made sure nobody was looking before she tucked it into the glove box. Ethel pulled out of the club’s parking lot and waited until she was at the next stoplight before she said, “So it was Sloan?”

“I don’t think so,” said Laura. “He doesn’t sound like a senior officer. He’s probably dangerous, sure, but I think the man we’re looking for is Shaughnessy’s captain.”

“A captain,” said Ethel. “Are you sure about this, Laura?”

“I’m sure. So sure that I’m going to do this next part myself. I want you to take the evidence home to your apartment and hide it somewhere even your husband can’t find it.”

“I’ll do no such thing,” said Ethel. “You’re going to go risk your life by yourself? What if it goes wrong?”

“I can handle myself,” said Laura. “And I don’t want to tarnish your reputation. I have nothing to lose - literally. Maybe my life, if you call it a life. But without Rebecca or Tilda, is it really worth much?”

“Laura,” said Ethel, shocked.

“Don’t give me that,” said Laura.

“Your life is worth a lot to me,” said Ethel. “No matter what happens to the others. I won’t send you in there to die.”

Laura was touched, to her own surprise. “Hey,” she said. “I’ll be fine. Shaughnessy will be backing me up.”

“After I hide the evidence, I’m coming right back to the police station,” said Ethel. “I’ll have your back, too.” 

They arrived at the station a few moments later. Ethel dropped Laura off at the curb, and Laura hugged Ethel clumsily around the neck before she got out. “See you soon, cousin,” she said.

 

Laura asked the receptionist if she could see the captain and settled into a cold metal chair to wait. Glancing coyly behind her sunglasses, she saw Shaughnessy sitting at his desk in the far corner, and she saw him see her too.

Captain Kater came out after about twenty minutes. He was in his sixties, with a handsome, square face, and he shook her hand before he led her to his office.

“Laura Lydeker,” said Laura.

“I know,” he said. “You look just like your aunt did when she was your age.”

He shut the door behind them and offered Laura a chair. Laura took it, crossing her legs at the ankle, and waited until Kater settled himself in his chair. He opened a cabinet under his big wooden desk and lifted out a decanter. “Drink?”

“No, thank you. I won’t be long,” said Laura.

He smiled amiably, shrugged, and poured himself a glass. “So what brings you to my office? Does it concern your sister’s disappearance?”

“In a way,” said Laura. She felt almost lightheaded for a moment. This was thrilling. It was like pointing the gun at Slade all over again. The risk of death, but the reward so great, and unsure for a moment which way it was going to go. “I wanted to talk to you about Tilda, first.”

“Oh?” said Kater, raising an eyebrow. Cool as anything.

“It’s public record that she was found dead a Jane Doe. But I know she was a plainclothes police officer. One of yours,” said Laura. “And I know that she was acting under your orders when she killed Tilda.”

Not a glimmer of worry or recognition crossed his face. “Miss Lydeker, I’m not sure who misinformed you, but-”

“I’m getting tired of this game, Captain Kater,” interrupted Laura. “I know that you’re also trying to have my sister Rebecca killed, because she found out that you ordered Tilda’s murder. I also know that you killed Pastor Abelard of All Saints in cold blood. And I have evidence of that murder. And I have a witness. I think you know who.”

Kater regarded Laura across the desk, gently swirling his scotch. Then he laughed quietly. “You’re as stupid as the rest of your family,” he said. “You come into my station and make these accusations in person? If what you’re saying is true, you should be running for the border by now. You and your ‘witness.’”

“I’m here because it’s already too late for you to do anything,” said Laura. “The witness’s statement and the bullets are just an extra level of insurance - in case you try to have me killed today. The real damage has already been done. The evening edition of the Times is already printing photographs of you fucking your mistress upstairs at The Cuban. It’s the least of your crimes, believe me, I know. But it’s very, very vivid to the average citizen.”

“I don’t believe it,” snapped Kater. “You can’t possibly have photographs like that.”

Laura shrugged. “Believe it or don’t,” she said. “They were a gift from my sister before she vanished. She always was good at getting into places she shouldn’t. Call the paper for proof if you like. They don’t answer to you, and as of tomorrow, your army of goons won’t, either.”

She stood and turned to leave. Kater leapt up from his chair, rushed around the desk, and grabbed her by the arm even as she tried to dodge away. “I’ll kill you for this,” he gritted through his teeth.

“You can try,” Laura snapped back. “As I think you’ve heard, I know how to handle a pistol. I won’t hesitate to shoot you. Do you want to know what really happened the night Oscar Slade died?” His hand on her arm was crushing. “He and Tilda had been lovers for years. Then he sold her out to Doppel’s gang and set her up to be killed in a shootout. She got out alive; no thanks to the police. I went to go put him down for good. Unfortunately, Tilda’s muscle got there first. He died in front of me, though; that was almost as good. My finger’s been itching ever since to put a bullet in a man who deserves it. And you more than fit the bill.”

Kater looked shocked. Then angry. As he opened his mouth to monologue, Laura cut him off again. “You’re already finished. No need to rant and rave. Your career will be over tomorrow morning. You’ll probably be allowed to retire with your pension. Better than you deserve.” He spluttered. “And, if you try to retaliate against me or my family, in any way, ever, the bullets and the witness statement will put you in prison forever. They might even give you the chair. You killed a man of the cloth in front of his own altar.” 

The office door opened. On the other side stood Detective Shaughnessy, a pistol steady in his right hand. “Let her go, Captain,” he said evenly. Behind him stood several more officers, wide-eyed, hands on their service weapons.

Kater didn’t move for a moment. Then he slowly dragged Laura closer and whispered in her ear, “You think he’s clean? I owned him, too.”

Laura leaned in and whispered back, “I was counting on that.” Then she yanked her arm out of his grip and let the officers rush past to restrain him.

 

After the hubbub had died down, Kater had been booked, and the press were starting to arrive outside, Laura had a quiet moment with Shaughnessy at his desk. His workspace was stacked with papers and ledgers, crammed in a corner near a grimy window. The small section of wall he could call his own held rows of awards and certificates. 

“The precinct will be looking for a new captain,” said Laura. “They’ll certainly look favorably on you for helping bring down Captain Kater.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you and Mrs. Barringsley,” said Shaughnessy.

“I know,” said Laura. He laughed. She smiled for a moment, then said, “I hope you remember us when you’re in charge. And I hope you remember the evidence I’m keeping.”

“The Kater evidence?” said Shaughnessy, sounding confused.

Laura nodded. “I don’t presume to know what your plans are, having just met you. But if you were thinking of taking up extralegal justice like your predecessor, just remember how swiftly Ethel and I took him down. And how the evidence we have could implicate you, too.” She smiled pleasantly, seeing a photographer raising his camera across the room.

“I don’t know what to say,” said Shaughnessy.

“Keep your nose clean and you’ll never have to say anything,” said Laura. “Oh, and there’s one favor you can do. Ethel’s nightclub. It needs a few more permits approved. Perhaps you can use your new influence to make some calls. Not a quid pro quo or anything like that - just a gesture of good faith to us.”

“Us?” said Shaughnessy.

“The Lydekers, of course,” said Laura. 

Ethel appeared in the doorway of the precinct. She was stopped by an officer and gestured past him to Laura and Shaughnessy. “She’s my cousin,” said Laura to Shaughnessy, collecting her things. “We’ll always look out for her.”

 

Ethel was a good audience while they drove out to Calabasas.

“You had the pictures all along?” said Ethel. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I mailed them to the paper before you arrived at the clinic. I just wasn’t sure if Kater was a killer as well as an adulterer,” she said. “Rebecca thought so, but I wanted to be sure I wasn’t approaching the wrong guy - what if the man who was really responsible was still out there after Kater went away?”

“Mack will make sure to clean house,” said Ethel. “He’ll get all of Kater’s henchmen.”

“And even if he doesn’t, we found more than enough evidence to put the rest away later,” said Laura. She sat back against the leather seat, finally relaxing.

“Did you really tell Kater you’d plug him?” said Ethel.

“With a straight face,” said Laura. Ethel laughed, delighted.

Laura held up one of Rebecca’s letters. It didn’t give an address, but it included a flowery, shy description of the home of a friend of hers - the younger sister of Oscar Slade, a quiet woman named Muriel who couldn’t be less like her crooked brother. She and Rebecca had been friends since they were children. Laura suspected that if Rebecca went into hiding, she hid with Muriel. And Muriel lived in her late grandparents’ house in Calabasas.

“I’ve never been so glad that Rebecca couldn’t mind her business,” said Laura. “We caught Tilda’s killer thanks to her snooping. Her whole life she’s been getting into things she shouldn’t. Usually she pinned them on me later. Remember your spring formal? You came to our house for photographs, and your corsage went missing?”

“That was Rebecca?” exclaimed Ethel. 

“No, that was me,” said Laura, and laughed. “But I stole it because Rebecca told me she’d found it when she was rummaging in your bag for love notes. Ask her about it when we see her. She’ll tell you.”

Ethel laughed; she couldn’t seem to help herself. “I wanted to kill all three of you,” she said. “I had bragged about that corsage at school for a week.”

Laura turned the letter over in her hands. “Is that why you stopped coming around?” she said. “We hardly saw you after you graduated high school. I guess I thought you thought we were brats.”

“Oh, Laura,” said Ethel. She sounded sad. “That wasn’t it at all.” She sighed. “Tilda asked me to join the family business. I thought it would be clerical work, keeping books. She took me out to meet a contact, oh, a few months after that formal. I saw him get shot in the street in front of our car. Tilda said O’Hanlon had ordered it. It seemed like business as usual. I couldn’t bear to see her after that, I was so frightened. And I realized what everyone else knew: The Lydekers were a crime family. My last name was different, so people hadn’t always made the connection. I went out of my way to hide it after that. I’ve hardly spoken the name Lydeker in the last fifteen years.”

“I had no idea,” said Laura. “I thought you just didn’t like us.”

“Did Tilda try to bring you in?” asked Ethel.

“Sure,” said Laura. “But unlike you, she thought I was beautiful idiot. She just had me glad-handing mobsters and providing alibis. Rebecca was her favorite, but then she got killed before either of us could get far in the business.”

“You were better off for it,” said Ethel.

“Was I?” said Laura. “You know, I’ve gotten a lot done in the last two days. Cleaned up the police force, threatened some guys. I was thinking of asking Alma to let me back in, give me some responsibilities. You should ask, too.”

“Me?” said Ethel.

“You and I are a great team,” said Laura. “And your nightclub would be a big benefit to the family, and the family could benefit you, too - nobody throws a party like a Lydeker.”

Ethel drove in silence for a little while, apparently considering. Laura watched the ranches and scrubland slide past her window. After a while she saw a little store with an old woman on the porch and she gestured for Ethel to slow down. She rolled down her window. 

“Excuse me!” she called. “Do you know Muriel Slade?”

The woman nodded and pointed down the road past them, then yanked her thumb to the right. “Thanks!” Laura called, and rolled the window back up to keep out the dust.

Sure enough, there was a long thin road that turned off the main road, and a little house at the end, hidden in a eucalyptus grove. Laura hopped out before the car had even stopped moving, waving her hands and crying, “Rebecca!” A moment later, the front door opened, and there was Rebecca, with a pretty woman standing behind her. Laura hadn’t seen Muriel Slade in years. She hoped she didn’t hold the almost shooting her brother thing against her. 

Rebecca rushed out and grabbed Laura into a tight hug. “What are you doing here? Come in, you don’t know who’s watching!”

“Oh, Rebecca,” said Laura, squeezing her back. “Have I got news for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Laura Lydeker, the Heiress, is played by Kirsten Dunst  
> Ethel Barringsley, the Restless Wife, is played by Diane Lane  
> Alma, the Maiden Aunt, is played by Judi Dench  
> Tilda Lydeker, the Aristocrat, is played by Helen Mirren  
> Mack Shaughnessy, the Cop, is played by Aaron Eckhart  
> Rebecca Lydeker, the Skirt, is played by Naomi Watts  
> Judy Barnes, the Orphan, is played by Abigail Breslin  
> And in a role created for this story,  
> Captain Michael Kater is played by Rutger Hauer
> 
> This story takes place a few months after the events described in Killers Kill, Dead Men die. I tried to draw as much from the captions of the photoshoot as possible while embellishing generously between the lines.


End file.
